


You Know My Name

by quiettoxic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettoxic/pseuds/quiettoxic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many of Alin's and Stefan's firsts have a lot to do with each other. It takes them a while to figure out what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know My Name

**Author's Note:**

> You know it's serious business when I properly capitalize my titles.
> 
> The 5+1 Things are '5 times Alin did something first and 1 time it was Stefan'. It's not really all that clear but ehhh whatever.
> 
> Oh and Alin is Romania and Stefan Bulgaria. And Luca is Moldova.

**I. August, 1998**

Hobbling along behind his mother, Alin carried the groceries he had been entrusted with to the lift, where she held the doors for him while another woman waited inside. He slipped in quickly, and the doors closed.

The other woman had long black hair, and Alin thought she looked familiar. Did she live on the same storey as them? He smiled up at her when she looked down at him, and she smiled back.

“Are you helping your mum with the shopping?” she asked, and Alin nodded fervently. His own mother looked up.

“You live on the tenth floor too, isn’t it?”

The black-haired woman nodded.

The lift reached their stop, and the three of them got off. A boy was waiting in the hall, with the same black hair as the woman and with a t-shirt on several sizes too big. He looked about the same age as Alin, so he waved at him happily. The boy glanced at the woman – probably his mother, Alin decided – and then waved back. Since the two women were talking to each other now, Alin trudged over to him.

“Hi! Is that your mum?” he asked brightly, gesturing at the black-haired woman.

The boy nodded.

Alin poked his tongue into the hole between his teeth. “So where do you live?”

He pointed down the corridor. “Number eight.”

“I live at number fifteen! My name’s Alin. What’s your name? How old are you?”

The boy peered down at his feet. “Uhm, I am Stefan and I’m... Almost ten years.”

“I’m almost nine!” Alin told him happily. This was good news. He had made no real friends in London so far; the school year had yet to begin and there weren’t that many kids in the building, let alone kids Alin’s age. He longed for someone to play with. His mother was often tired because she was pregnant, and his father was almost always working, so they were no fun either.

“Do you like football?” he asked Stefan. “Maybe we can play together!”

Stefan shrugged a little. “I’m no good at football.”

“That’s okay! I can teach you!” Alin was bouncing on his heels now, the bread in his arms almost jumping out of its bag with the force of it. “Can we?”

“I, uhm, if my mum says we can,” Stefan stuttered, holding on tight to the hem of his shirt.

“Great! Let’s go ask her.”

He felt a hand on his neck as soon as he finished talking, squeezing gently.

“Making friends, Alin?” his mother asked.

“Yes, this is Stefan. Stefan, this is my mum!”

“Hello,” Stefan said politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Stefan. Your English is very good. Your mum told me you’re from Bulgaria, is that right?”

He brightened. “That’s true. Thank you!”

Bulgaria? Alin thought that might be close to Romania, where he himself had come from, just a few months ago. It had been a long journey across Europe to get to London, especially since his mother’s belly was already starting to grow by that point and she couldn’t always help Alin and his dad.

Stefan’s mother appeared behind him, asking, “What was this I heard about football?”

Alin grinned at her. “I wanted to go play football with Stefan and he said he wasn’t good at it and I said I could teach him and he said if you say we can then I can.”

She nodded thoughtfully and gave one of her shopping bags to Stefan. “That sounds like fun, doesn’t it, Stefan?”

He nodded, clutching the bag with both arms.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow?” she asked, directing the question half at Alin and half at his mother. Alin looked up at her, and she smiled.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

They made their arrangements, and then Alin waved at Stefan as he walked home behind his mother. Stefan smiled, still holding the shopping bag with both arms. Alin couldn’t wait until he could go play with his first real friend in England.

* * *

**II. January, 2003**

“Stefan!” Alin slammed the palm of his hand down on the door of his friend’s bedroom. “Come on!”

“Hold _on_!” Stefan yelled from inside. The door flung open, but Alin neatly avoided it by stepping back just in time. His own flat had the exact same layout – he knew the damage that door could do. First-hand. Stefan actually looked put out that it hadn’t hit him.

“Well, what’s it, then? It’s, what?” Stefan looked back into his room. “It’s eight bloody thirty on a Saturday morning, Alin. I’m honestly going to take your key back.”

“No, you’re not.” Alin rubbed his eyes. He’d been awake for nearly three hours now, because his little brother had been sick all night, keeping him up with his awful retching noises, and he just hadn’t been able to go back to sleep at a certain point.

“You look like a wreck. Do you want some tea?”

“Tea,” he confirmed. Oh, but did that couch look _inviting_...

He had nearly dozed off when Stefan returned from the kitchen, plopping himself down next to Alin and putting two mugs of tea on the coffee table.

“Luca’s still ill, then?”

“Hm-hm. Mum says he just has to get it out of his system.” He made a face as he reached for a mug. “I don’t think there’s much more he _can_ get out of his system at this point.”

“And thank you for that mental image.”

Alin grinned into his tea.

They sat in silence for a while, blowing on their tea. The first rays of sunshine were tentatively making their way into the flat, colouring the table with bright orange stripes of light. Slowly, Alin was starting to feel less like he was about to fall asleep.

“You’re lucky my mum’s at work, anyway,” Stefan said. “Barging in like that. Eight-bloody-thirty.”

“I _know_ when your mum works, mate. I’m not about to come storming in when she’s _here_. I’m not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Stefan muttered, just loud enough for Alin to hear. He decided to let it slide. “Why are you here anyway? Just to drink our tea and complain about Luca?”

Alin shifted a little. He knew what he’d come for – he hadn’t been planning on coming so early, but he _had_ meant to visit Stefan today. Just, now that he was here, the reason seemed very silly.

“Well,” he started, and then he fell silent. He took a sip of tea, trying to stall. Stefan was raising his eyebrows.

“Well?”

“Well. D’you know Lizzie, from school?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” He shook his head. “She asked me on a date.”

“A _date_? Ow, bloody—” Stefan put his tea back on the table, making pained hissing noises. “That was hot.”

Alin put his own tea down, as a precaution. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m— Don’t worry. A _date_?”

“A date,” Alin confirmed, now mildly amused. “’S that so hard to believe?”

Shrugging, Stefan ran a hand through his dark hair. “What’re you going to do, then?”

And now, they were getting to the point. “I don’t know. I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“Hm.” Suddenly, Stefan turned on the couch to look at him, eyes wide. “You don’t reckon she’ll want to _kiss_?”

Alin tried to feign nonchalance for about one second, then gave up and gave his friend a panicked look. “That’s what I’m worried about! I have no idea how any of that works, and I don’t know anyone who does except my parents and I’m hardly going to ask my _mum_ how to properly kiss a girl!”

They stared at each other, realising with horror that for the first time in their thirteen-year-old lives, they had met a problem they could not solve among the two of them.

Unless.

 _Unless_.

“Do _you_ know how it works?”

Stefan shook his head, looking more terrified than before. “What if a girl wants to snog _me_?”

“You reckon... We could try it out? I don’t get what the big fuss is anyway. It’s just... Lips, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

Stefan looked thoughtful. “The two of us? You mean like... Like practising?”

“Yeah! And then if Lizzie does want to kiss, I’ll be all ready, and if a girl wants to kiss you, you’ll be all ready. And we’d be really cool, yeah?”

“Yeah...” he said slowly, gazing away from Alin, at the sunlight on the table.

Alin shuffled more towards him. “Yeah?”

Stefan turned his way. “ _Now_?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Your mum’s not home, and, well...”

“Oh... Okay. Uhm, so.”

Alin hadn’t thought quite this far ahead. He shuffled a bit closer to Stefan, until his shin was pressed to the boy’s thigh, and he could feel Stefan breathe when he looked his way. He looked at his friend’s lips, trying to work out what would be so good about pressing his own against them. He didn’t really know.

“Uhm,” Stefan said again, and Alin decided to just go for it, and he surged up to slam their mouths together.

“ _Ow_!”

“Alin!”

Rubbing his mouth, Alin glared at Stefan.

“What, like it’s my fault!”

He glared some more.

Stefan licked his lips. “I think something went wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna... Try again, or?”

Alin nodded. “I’ll just, move slower, I guess.”

Stefan nodded.

Much slower than before, Alin leaned forward, until their noses were touching, which seemed weird, so he tilted his head a little bit, avoiding the nose and pressing his lips against Stefan’s.

It was... Damp, and warm, and not particularly unpleasant, but not amazing either. Alin stared at the armrest of the couch behind Stefan, wondering how long a kiss should last. Maybe he should count in his head. He glanced at Stefan, who was looking very concentrated, and started giggling, which forced him to pull back. Stefan now looked confused.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is!” Alin laughed. Stefan clasped a hand over his mouth, sniggering. “You reckon we did something wrong again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Have you ever seen anyone kiss?”

Alin thought very hard, trying to avoid his parents, because that was too strange to think about. “In films, a couple times. They usually close their eyes, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and move their mouths a little bit, like...” Stefan made a motion like he was imitating a fish. “Only, I don’t see what would be nice about that, do you?”

“You look like a fish,” Alin giggled, and Stefan grimaced. “We could try it, though.”

Stefan nodded.

They both tilted their heads a little bit this time, and Alin put a hand on his friend’s leg to steady himself. He let his eyes slip closed when their lips touched, which – didn’t do much of anything to make the whole better or worse. And the moving lips thing, how would that even work?

Stefan opened his mouth a little bit, then closed it again, and now Alin’s bottom lip was caught between both of his, which was actually sort of nice. All warm and soft. Alin tried to return the gesture, tilting his head a bit more on nothing but instinct, and suddenly they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. It startled Alin so much that the pulled back abruptly.

“That was – nice,” Stefan said.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you—”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“So do—”

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and Stefan’s eyes flitted to the door.

“My mum,” he said quietly, and Alin nodded, scooting backwards a little.

“I’ll just go check on Luca.” He stood up. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

Alin waved at Stefan’s mother. “Hi, Mrs Borisova. Bye!”

She looked bemused. “Bye, Alin.”

He only realised later that he had completely forgotten his tea.

\-----

Sunday afternoon saw Alin back at Stefan’s flat, the two of them talking in hushed tones, hunched over on Stefan’s bed.

“But why would you want to stick your tongue in someone else’s mouth?” Alin asked. He was mildly grossed out, but also very intrigued with what Stefan had discovered yesterday. “Surely that’s all, like, wet and all?”

Stefan shrugged. “The people in the film seemed to like it just fine.”

Grimacing, Alin said, “But I don’t think I want to stick my tongue in anyone’s mouth. Yours _or_ Lizzie’s.”

He shrugged again.

“Let’s do the hands thing, though. That seemed like a good point.”

Hands, Stefan had deduced, were important when you were kissing someone. You couldn’t just leave them hanging uselessly next to your body. They had to do something. It seemed like something worth practicing, according to the both of them.

Standing across from each other in Stefan’s bedroom, the whole thing seemed rather stupid again. Stefan was a little taller than Alin, and he was leaning down nervously, his cheeks red. Alin’s hands were clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

Touch. Close your eyes. Hands... It seemed like a lot to remember, Alin thought even as he moved his hands up to rest on Stefan’s shoulders, and Stefan’s hands went around his waist, resting on his hips.

Oh wait, lips. Moving. Alin stepped closer to Stefan and tried to do that same thing he did yesterday, that thing that had actually felt nice... His arms wound around his friend’s neck without thought.

Stefan tilted his head this time, his lips moving slowly against Alin’s, who tried to respond in kind, because this was nice. This was actually pretty good. They might become good at this yet.

\-----

The first time they tried the thing with their tongues was two weeks later, on Sunday when they were both back from church and their parents were still down in the lobby talking with some other grown-ups.

It was wet, and weird, but it also had something thrilling, and they were both giggling breathlessly by the time they pulled apart. Alin felt like there was drool all over his mouth, and he still had his arms around Stefan’s neck, as had become their default position over the past weeks.

They got it right by Valentine’s Day.

They had taken to sitting down again, most of the time on Stefan’s bed, feet dangling over the edge and upper bodies turned towards each other. The kissing, by now, was second nature to Alin; only his tongue still didn’t really know what to do.

He tried to turn more towards Stefan, and became so frustrated with the limited reach of his body that he pulled out of the kiss and swung his knee over Stefan’s thighs, kneeling over his legs and leaning down to continue without second thought. Stefan made a muffled noise of surprise but accommodated quickly, hands going around Alin’s back.

Slowly, Alin reached his tongue out. Teeth tucked away – they had learned that rather painful lesson on the second try – he waited until Stefan responded and _wait_ _this was it_.

Whether it was the position of their heads or the amount of saliva or the movement their tongues made – slow, but not overly so – they _had it_ now. This was what they had been searching for.

When the kiss finally ended, Alin grinned down at Stefan’s flushed face.

“We’ve got it, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” Stefan breathed, smiling back.

Neither of them thought it was strange when Alin leant down to kiss him again.

* * *

**III. September, 2004**

Alin never did go on a date with Lizzie from school, in the end. He’d rather blown his chances when he put off answering her for over a month. Because he was too busy snogging his best friend – he didn’t tell her that part. Lizzie didn’t like him much anymore, but he supposed he deserved that.

He hadn’t had any opportunity to kiss anyone else since then – there had been a few more kisses with Stefan, but at a certain point they couldn’t find a plausible reason to keep the whole thing going. Alin had felt rather put out. Stefan didn’t appear to mind so much.

On Stefan’s sixteenth birthday, Alin realised something.

They were growing up, both of them. Stefan had shot up like a weed since he was fourteen, and was now nearly two heads taller than Alin, who really hoped his growth spurt would come later because this was an _abomination_. But Stefan had let his hair grow out a little bit, and it sometimes curled around his ears, and his braces had come out a week ago so now he smiled more openly and his voice had gotten deeper but he still had that familiar Bulgarian lilt and sometimes when he was playing with Luca, who was almost six now, or just reading a book or doing homework or whatever, he would look up at Alin and smile and Alin would be caught up in the fact that he knew how Stefan’s lips felt and.

Alin realised, as he watched him blow out the candles on his birthday cake, that he was rather in love with his best friend.

He also realised that he was gay, but that was pushed to the background because the more important thing was _Stefan_ – who was a boy, yes, so maybe it kind of had something to do with Alin being gay.

 _Argh_.

Luca proclaimed that he was going to marry Stefan when he grew up. Alin’s mother launched into a lecture about how he couldn’t because Stefan was a boy while Mrs Borisova looked on in bemusement and Stefan, blushing a little, caught Alin’s eye with a small smile that made his stomach do bloody _backflips_.

So Alin’s first real crush was his best friend. Who was also a boy.

Well, he definitely wasn’t telling his parents that one.

\-----

It felt like betrayal when Stefan announced, two years later, that he was leaving London to go to university.

Of course, Alin was happy for him; he knew how hard his friend had worked, and he would probably be leaving London himself in just a year or two, but it still felt like Stefan was leaving him behind, like he was going into this new phase of his life without Alin on purpose.

“I’ll send you letters, okay? Besides,” Stefan said, “it’s not like I’m leaving the country. You could come visit.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He sighed. “What’s up with you, Alin? You’ve been all put out the entire summer.”

“Don’t know,” he lied, brushing his hair out of his eye. He had dyed it black two weeks ago. Had a mighty row with his mum about it, too.

Stefan looked at him with an expression halfway between pity and annoyance. Alin wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

It was _stupid_! It was stupid that he was still in love with the guy after two years, and it was stupid that Stefan had gotten so good-looking so there would definitely be other people interested in him and Alin didn’t know if he was into men at all and it was stupid that he was leaving and it was _stupid_ that Alin was so upset over all of it.

Everything was stupid.

Stefan sighed again.

Alin was sweating in his black clothes, the sun bathing the balcony of Stefan’s flat in heat and other stupid things. Like light. Alin had decided that he did not like light at all.

His mother had said he was too pale, but that was exactly what he was going for.

“Alin...”

“What?”

“I’ll miss you, you know. Even if you’ve been acting like a tit these past weeks. You’re still my best friend.”

Alin took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to apologise for ‘acting like a tit’, but he didn’t say anything.

He only did three weeks later, when Stefan was leaving for real and there were some people there to say goodbye to him.

When everyone else was otherwise occupied, Alin pulled Stefan out into the corridor and to the stairwell, and hugged him tight, standing on his toes to wrap his arms around his neck. Stefan wound his arms around Alin’s waist, and they stayed like that for longer than completely necessary.

“I’m sorry,” Alin mumbled into his friend’s shoulder. “I’ve been acting like a massive pillock. I’m just— I’m upset about you leaving.”

“It’s okay. I’m upset about me leaving too.” Stefan pulled away a little, looking down at Alin. “I’d much rather stay here, really.”

And now Alin felt like crying, and he did not want to cry, so instead he pulled at Stefan’s neck until their noses were touching, closed his eyes, tilted his head, and kissed him. Very quickly, feeling only the faintest hint of warmth and of the familiar shape of Stefan’s lips before he was pulling away, not looking him in the eye.

“Wh—” Stefan started, but Alin stepped back.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time at university. Just don’t forget me, that’s all I ask.”

“I wouldn’t— I, Alin, what—”

“Good.” He turned around, pushed his hands into his pockets, and walked away.

Stupid.

* * *

**IV. November, 2015**

It was a nice house, Alin thought, much nicer than the flat he had grown up in – the one in London as well as the one he remembered from Romania. It was small, but it had a garden that was quite spacious, as far as he could see. Hoarfrost was clinging to the grass, making it look more like a glittery sea of ice than a lawn, and the early morning mist hadn’t quite evaporated yet despite it being nearly eleven. Alin longed to take out his camera and take a picture of it. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand again instead, checking the address.

This was really it.

He trudged up the path to the front door, hovered his hand uncertainly over the doorbell, and then pressed down decisively. He wanted to run away immediately afterwards, but stood his ground, listening to the noises coming from inside instead of the sound of his heart beating in his throat.

The door opened, and Alin rocked back on his heels, feeling like a teenager all over again.

“Hi, Stefan. Long time no see.” He grinned lopsidedly.

“Wh— _Alin_?”

His hair was shorter than last time Alin had seen him – nearly eight years ago – and his face has lost the last traces of childishness, giving him a squarer chin than Alin remembered and sharper cheekbones, but his eyes were green as ever, wide in shock. Alin felt the still-familiar pang of attraction in his chest, but not the romantic feelings that had accompanied it before. It was probably for the best, he thought.

“Yeah, ah, your mother told me where you lived. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I, come in.” He stepped back, allowing Alin to enter the hallway. “What is, why— Sorry, I’m not coherent. Do take your coat off. Do you want tea?”

“That’d be nice, thanks.” It felt strange to be this formal with Stefan, but then again – can you still say you know someone when you haven’t really spoken to them in eight years?

Alin wandered into the living room, taking in the modest furniture, the laptop open on some sort of spreadsheet on the table. There were some birthday cards on a dresser, shoved into a corner like Stefan had forgotten to put them away. There weren’t any photographs around the room.

“Tea’s ready,” Stefan announced. His voice hadn’t changed much over the years. It was strangely comforting to Alin. “You can sit down, you know.”

“I’m orientating myself.”

Stefan huffed a laugh and went to sit down himself, putting the tea on the coffee table. “Feel free to join me.”

At least he wasn’t being weird about this. Alin was grateful for that, so he nodded and took a seat on the couch.

“Oh, uh, I just kind of assumed you would still want milk,” Stefan said, sounding rather sheepish.

“I do,” Alin replied, smiling. “I’m honoured you remember.”

A quick smile lit up the man’s – man’s! – face.

They began talking at the same time, then fell silent.

“Guests first,” Stefan said, inclining his head in Alin’s direction.

“Even unannounced guests you haven’t seen in eight years?” He didn’t wait for answer. “Your mum was rather cross with me, you know. I’m lucky she was willing to give me your address at all.”

“Cross?” Stefan echoed.

“I imagine she missed my invigorating presence over the years.”

Stefan snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she did.” He looked at his hands. “I did, at times. What brings you here? Apart from my mum?”

“I.” Alin took a deep breath. “I’ve a new job, in London, and I’ve been meaning to visit you ever since I got back, only there was so much to do and I didn’t know where you lived, but yesterday I ran into your mum in the lift, and she practically kidnapped me and forced me to have tea with her – _not_ that I minded that, at all. If it weren’t for her... I would not have had a place to sleep tonight.”

Stefan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I was staying with my parents for the time being. You probably know how hard it is to get an affordable place to live around here, so until I had a home for myself I had moved back in.” He chewed on his lip for a few seconds, trying to decide how to phrase what he was going to say. If he was going to tell Stefan all of it. “They kicked me out yesterday.”

“What? Why would they do that? Had you been there for too long?”

“Barely three weeks. No, I—” In for a penny, in for a pound, he decided. “I came out to them. I told them I was gay, and I thought that they would be okay with it now, that they had probably changed their minds, but they hadn’t. They haven’t.” He hardly dared to look up at Stefan.

“Bloody fuck,” he heard the man breathe, which almost made him laugh. “Did you tell my mum this?”

“I just told her they kicked me out, not why. Didn’t know how she’d react.”

“She’d be furious with them, that’s how.”

Alin looked up, startled by the anger in Stefan’s voice.

“Do you know she flew a rainbow flag for a _week_ after I came out? Pissed off the neighbours, it did.”

“Wha—You’re—”

“And I told her, mum, I’m not gay, I’m bisexual, but she said no one would recognise that flag and the neighbours were arses anyway, and I’m— Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you like this.”

“Mean to tell me?”

Stefan stood up and started pacing around the table in a familiar nervous gesture. Alin drew his legs up onto the couch to avoid an accident.

“I’ve been meaning to look you up, too. I didn’t know you were back in London, but I’d thought I could ask your parents where you were and that maybe we could just catch up, you know. I feel quite awful sometimes about the way we just lost contact.”

“Yeah,” Alin said, and he was mildly embarrassed to find that his voice was hoarse. Stefan stopped to look at him, then sank down next to him on the couch.

“You can stay here if you want. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine again.”

“What? No, no, I couldn’t. That isn’t why— I’ll find a place. I’ll stay in a hotel, don’t worry.”

“Are you mad? You won’t find a place within a day, or a week even. Just until then. You can pay rent if it makes you feel better. Were you paying your parents?”

“A little. Stefan...”

“We were friends for longer than we weren’t.”

“Hardly.”

Stefan stared hard at him, green eyes kind but decisive.

“Okay,” Alin eventually said, because his heart was beating in his throat again, in the absolute best way possible. “Thank you.”

\-----

It was easy to fall back into the patterns they remembered from their teenage days. At times, it was like their friendship hadn’t changed at all, like there hadn’t been eight years without contact.

They were almost the same height now, with Stefan barely having an inch on Alin. He was still angry about that inch.

Stefan had bloomed into a far better cook than Alin would have thought possible, and he seemed to enjoy making food immensely. He worked as an accountant, which, he explained, was not the most fulfilling job on the planet, but he liked it and he was good at it, so he didn’t mind. Besides, it paid fairly well.

Alin – who was still a terrible cook – had, halfway through his first year of studying to be a technician, discovered photography and decided to focus on that. His new job in London was for a local newspaper, but his dream was to set up his own studio one day. He was getting by.

Luca had started university in September. When he heard about Alin getting kicked out, he was more furious than Alin had been and absolutely refused to go home. So Stefan invited him to spend part of the holidays at his house, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But before that, a small miracle happened. It started snowing halfway through December, trapping half of London in their homes and leaving Alin feeling positively giddy with excitement. He barged into Stefan’s bedroom early in the morning to get the man out of bed and into the snow.

It took two cups of coffee, but then Stefan was awake and putting on his coat and boots. And his gloves. And a hat. Alin tapped his foot impatiently, and in response, Stefan grinned and slowed down a bit.

It had been a month since Alin arrived, and he had not felt so at home in years. His house-searching had become a background task, something easily forgotten. Neither of them had commented on it.

 _At last_ , Stefan was done, and Alin bounced into the garden with the man at his heels. He was embarrassingly unprepared when a handful of snow was dumped down the back of his coat.

“ _STEFAN_!” he roared, preparing a counterstrike, and Stefan laughed and dashed away.

They chased each other through the garden like children, throwing half-formed snowballs at the other’s head and yelling harmless insults until Alin tackled Stefan to the ground and tried to rub the snow in his face. Stefan fended him off, laughing. His hat had fallen off somewhere and his cheeks were flushed with cold and excitement and Alin felt that pang of attraction again, as he had often over the past few weeks.

Momentarily distracted, he was easy to flip over and into a snowbank.

Stefan hovered over him with a grin.

“Do you admit defeat, Rotaru?”

“ _Never_ ,” Alin replied, as dramatically as possible. He threw himself sideways, rolling both himself and Stefan out of the snowbank, and over and over and over until he was on top of Stefan, with their faces inches apart, Alin’s hair forming a curtain around them.

The pang was more of a wrench this time, especially when he noticed that one of Stefan’s hands was on his waist, as it had been so many times before. Tension thrummed through his body at the contact, the closeness.

It would be so easy to just lean down and kiss him, if just to see if he still felt the same.

Their breath was clouding between their faces, and Alin was leaning down, _down_ and Stefan’s eyes were closing and

the house phone rang.

Stefan opened his eyes, startled, and he pushed Alin off of him. “Sorry, I’ve got to—”

Alin didn’t reply, staring up at the blue sky instead.

 _Fuck_. Not again.

\-----

They didn’t speak about it, although they probably should. Alin didn’t know what he felt at the moment, or what he should feel – not that he was particularly concerned with what he should feel – besides confused.

Luca came over on a Saturday that Stefan was working. Alin was glad to have some time with his little brother without him. They had not seen each other in quite some time, after all, and there was catching up to do. And apart from that, he was a good distraction from the strange situation with Stefan.

He found himself defending their parents and the way they thought, though he didn’t know if he meant what he said. Luca wouldn’t have it.

“It’s stupid, is what it is, and nothing is gonna change that.”

Luca had apparently helped Stefan’s mum hang the infamous rainbow flag. Alin felt a surge of pride and love and hugged him for an embarrassingly long time.

All three of them spent Christmas Eve elsewhere, with friends they had made across the country or, in Stefan’s case, with his mother, but they were back in Stefan’s house on Christmas Day. They actually debated going to church, but decided to forgo that. Alin hadn’t been to church in years, actually, and Stefan said he really only went on special occasions.

Something was changing in the way Alin saw Stefan, and as much as he wanted to stop it – because it was _familiar_ and he knew no good would come of it – he couldn’t. It was the little things he started noticing all over again; the way he sang under his breath when he cooked, and just how his voice sounded when he had laughed too much, the furrow in his brow when he was working on some particularly hard figures. Mundane things that made Alin’s breath catch for some reason, because they were so _Stefan_.

Alin wasn’t in love with him, not yet, but he could very well fall for him again.

So when on New Year’s Eve, two weeks after the snow fight incident, Luca had gone out to celebrate with friends and it was just the two of them, Alin decided it was time to face the problem head-on.

He cornered Stefan in the kitchen. The man looked bemused.

“What’s up?”

Alin took a very deep breath. “We need to talk.”

It was as if Stefan deflated. He started to lean against the counter. “Yeah, probably.”

“About that— Oh, okay.” This was not according to plan. He was supposed to ask ‘about what?’, and then Alin could explain and now he had no idea what to say. Luckily, Stefan did.

“That thing in the garden, isn’t it?” In his slump, he was the same height as Alin, which was strangely encouraging.

“Yeah. Yes. We— We nearly kissed, didn’t we?”

Stefan nodded, his eyes flicking between Alin’s face and some spot over his shoulder.

“That’s not exactly... Normal, is it?”

“I suppose not. I wonder, though...” He shook his head.

Alin raised an eyebrow at him, urging him on. What did he wonder? Was it the same thing he himself had wondered – what if they _had_ kissed?

“No, it’s just, I mean. Sometimes I think, what if we—”

“What if we had?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were staying on Alin now, if not quite meeting his gaze, and his voice was extremely low when he continued, “I... Don’t think I would have minded. If we had kissed.”

 _Pang_. That was more than just attraction.

“Me neither.”

Their eyes met.

Stefan blinked. Then said, à propos of nothing, “I’m in love with you.”

It was as if Alin had been struck in the chest, and he actually felt his knees give a little, because after _all these fucking years_ —

“I’m sorry!” Stefan was saying.

“What, no, why? Don’t be sorry! God, you _idiot_.”

“ _What_?” He sounded slightly hysterical. Then again, so did Alin, probably.

“I was in love with you when I was fourteen, Stefan! I figured out I was gay because of you, and I come here a decade later and you’re even more bloody handsome than before and I’ve been trying so hard not to fall for you all fucking over again and you just blurt that out like it’s nothing and then you _apologise_! You can’t do that!”

“What, Alin—”

“I’m not in love with you now, but it’s _this_ far off.” He actually gestured with his thumb and forefinger, mildly registering how stupid that looked.

“What are you _saying_?”

“I’m _saying_ —” He lowered his voice. “I’m saying...” Alin had no idea what he was saying, or what he had just said, if he were honest, but Stefan was looking at him with a painfully open expression, and his eyes looked even more green in the low light falling in from the hallway, and Alin felt like crying for some reason, and he didn’t want to cry, so he surged forward and kissed him.

He had meant for it to be short, but once their lips touched, everything else was lost. Stefan pressed back, no hesitation, and his lips felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, but the way he kissed – it was the same, only more... More. More confident and more tender and more as if he meant it. His arms wrapped around Alin’s waist, and Alin’s hands buried themselves in his hair, hanging on to him like a lifeline. They were pressed together from their thighs up, touching like they never had before.

Because they weren’t in love before.

Alin pulled back, letting Stefan’s bottom lip slip free slowly, breathing hard. He could feel his heart drumming at the base of his skull, and, strangely, tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

“You kiss the same,” Stefan mumbled in wonder. He licked his lips, and Alin laughed breathlessly.

“So do you.”

Stefan looked up at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“I think what I was saying,” Alin whispered, “is that I’m already in love with you.”

Stefan smiled the best smile he had ever seen.

* * *

**V. April, 2016**

They were dating. Sometimes Alin still couldn’t quite believe it – what if his fifteen-year-old self could have seen him now? He would have been so overjoyed to have Stefan like him back when he was that age, but he couldn’t help but think this way was probably better. First loves hardly ever worked out, and while there was no proof that _this_ would, that Stefan would turn out to be ‘the one’ for him after all this time, it had a better chance now than it had when they were teenagers.

Stefan didn’t know if he agreed, he said, citing predestination beliefs and then frowning at himself and going back to crunching numbers with a vaguely amused smile on his face.

The development of their relationship was met with great enthusiasm by both Luca and Mrs Borisova, and Alin had managed to evade his parents so far. It hurt, but he knew it would also hurt to talk to them and face their disapproval again. They would probably accuse Stefan of turning him gay, or something, and that was something he didn’t wish to hear. Still, they were his parents and he knew they weren’t bad people, no matter their beliefs, and he missed them at times.

“Stop thinking about your parents,” Stefan said from the other side of the living room. “Nothing good’s gonna come of it.”

Alin sighed and leaned his head back on the couch. He hadn’t been aware Stefan was watching him. Then he smiled at the ceiling, because he actually kind of liked that he had been.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Stefan announced, accompanied by the sound of his chair being pushed back.

“Have fun.”

Alin stayed in the same position on the couch for a while, listening to the water running upstairs and imagining he could hear Stefan’s mumbled singing from here. From there, his mind drifted. He imagined Stefan in the shower, in general, the water cascading down the lean lines of his body, dragging through the dark hair on his chest, his hands following that same path, down and down until they reached his cock. Alin imagined he would be hard, and would wrap a soapy hand around himself as he sighed in pleasure, turning his head up to expose his throat to – Alin himself, who was suddenly there in the fantasy, already with his fingers lacing through Stefan’s to help him get himself off. He imagined his own teeth scraping over Stefan’s neck, something they had both been surprised he liked, and the breathy little moans that would follow.

They hadn’t had sex yet, not really. There had been heavy petting and frantic, half-clothed rutting against one another, but they never seemed to get as far as to actually take all their clothes off, lie down and take the time to do it right. Alin didn’t mind the other things, but he would like to have Stefan naked and willing before him – or under him, over him, inside him, he didn’t really care about the specifics – after all this time.

He palmed his now half-hard cock through his trousers, trying to continue the fantasy, but then the water shut off, and he made a split-second decision.

Alin leapt off the couch and took the stairs two at a time, arriving just in time to see the bathroom door open and Stefan poke his head out, looking down the hall. His green eyes landed on Alin, and he smiled quizzically.

“I thought I heard you thundering up the stairs, there. Did you want something?”

Taking a deep breath, Alin stepped further into the hall. “Yes.”

A raised eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

He took another step, and another one. Now, he was able to touch the bathroom’s doorframe.

“You.” He took another step – was now close enough to touch Stefan. “I want you.”

“Oh,” Stefan breathed. A drop of water rolled from his hair down to his flushed cheek.

“Is that alright?”

“Of course,” he replied, voice low. “Of course, love.”

A thrill of pleasure thrummed through Alin’s body at the nickname, like it did every time Stefan called him that. It was so very _Stefan_ to call someone _love_ – who even called people _love_ besides little old ladies? Only Stefan bloody Borisov, in all his twenty-seven-year-old accountant glory, and he pulled it off marvellously. Or maybe Alin was just so in love with him that he could call him _Batman_ and he’d swoon like a fifteen-year-old.

“Come out of there, then.”

Stefan did, holding a faded purple towel up around his waist with one hand and closing the door with the other. He obviously hadn’t finished drying off – there was water sliding from his hair, down his neck and his arms, catching in the hair on his chest or sliding down until the towel absorbed it. Alin let his eyes wander with the drops, enjoying the way Stefan’s breath hitched, then quickened slightly. He slowly raised a hand and put it in the middle of Stefan’s chest so he could feel it.

He smiled when Stefan shivered.

“Come on,” he whispered.

They tumbled into Stefan’s bedroom, which had seen a lot of both of them over the past months. Alin was busy pulling his own shirt over his head, but he got tangled in it when he felt Stefan’s hot fingers slide up over his exposed stomach, leaving slightly damp trails in their wake, cooling quickly to the air. Stefan laughed and tugged the shirt over his head, but tangled his own hands in it instead and used it to reel Alin in for a kiss.

Alin smiled against his lips, wrapping his arms around Stefan’s neck. His hair was cold against his arms.

The sound of Stefan’s towel falling to the floor. Alin kissed his jaw, his neck, gathering droplets of water from his skin.

“I want,” Alin mumbled, and didn’t finish because he couldn’t even voice everything he wanted from Stefan, with Stefan. He pushed his nose against the man’s throat and his lips into the hollow of his collarbone.

Stefan breathed a half-formed response. His hands were roving over Alin’s arms and up and down his sides.

“You,” said Alin, pulling away so they could look at each other.

“You’ve got me,” Stefan replied.

“Same here.” He smiled and pushed at Stefan’s chest, walking them both towards his bed.

Stefan sprawled on the sheets, and Alin took a moment to properly look him up and down. His cock was half-hard already, and though Alin had felt it that way quite a few times now, the actual sight of it made his own cock perk up quite a bit. Stefan smiled a little shyly, a blush working its way down his neck. Alin quickly shucked his trousers and socks and crawled over him to kiss him again. Stefan carded his fingers through his hair.

“I’m getting the sheets wet,” he said absentmindedly. Alin kissed his throat.

“Do you mind?” he mumbled into the pale skin there.

“The only thing I mind is you having your pants on.”

Alin laughed and sat back. He had half a mind to take it slow, to put on a little striptease for Stefan, but then he looked at the man in question, leaning on his elbows, and the other half of his mind won – the part that said they both had to be naked _right now_. His pants were quickly discarded. He’d do a striptease some other time. He had the feeling Stefan would rather enjoy it. He knew _he_ would.

He leant over to kiss Stefan again, pressing the length of their bodies together, which sent sparks of pleasure tingling through his limbs. Stefan was warm and pliant underneath Alin, his fingers once again in his hair and his lips swallowing the little sounds he couldn’t help but make.

The gentle scrape of Alin’s teeth across his neck had Stefan arching up with a small gasp. Alin rolled his hips down, feeling Stefan’s cock slide against his hip. He trailed his fingers through the damp hair on Stefan’s chest, up to his neck, to cup his jaw, slowly kissing back up to his mouth. He wanted to savour this moment, stretch it out as long as possible. He tried to print everything into his memory, from the freshly-washed smell of Stefan’s hair to every soft sound he made.

One of Stefan’s hands slipped from his hair to rest on his arse, not-quite directing the absentminded rolling of his hips. Their cocks almost rubbed together. Alin caught Stefan’s upper lip between both of his, or maybe Stefan caught his bottom lip, but in any case their noses tucked together, and Alin smiled.

Stefan was grasping at his hair with his free hand, then, catching bony fingers in the rather too-long strands. His breath caught as well, before coming out in a rush over Alin’s chin, and he was whispering.

“Alin.” His fingers twined tighter. “Please fuck me.”

Alin was convinced every function of his body stopped working for half a second, but then it all kicked into overdrive as he looked down at Stefan’s flushed face. He whimpered.

“You want me to—”

“If you do. Yes. Please.”

Alin let out a high sound that would have been embarrassing in any other situation, but it made Stefan smile shyly, so it didn’t matter at all.

“I need...”

“Let me.”  Stefan wriggled until Alin’s mind, which was not exactly focused on practical things like how to move his arms at the moment, caught up with the programme and allowed Alin to roll off of him. He shifted to his stomach and reached out to rummage in his nightstand, coming back up with a condom and a bottle of lube. Alin bit his lip and took both things quietly.

“No, uh, no glove?” he asked.

“Oh, do you want— I’m sure there’s some in there.” He chuckled nervously. “But I just, in the shower – I was—”

Alin smiled. “You fingered yourself?”

Stefan nodded, blushing. Well, that did mean he was considerably clean, and Alin always was careful.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. How, how many fingers?”

“Two,” Stefan breathed, rolling fully back to his back, leg swinging over Alin so he was bracketing him. His cock did a little wiggle, which Alin had to smile about, before catching it in his hand and jerking gently, rubbing his thumb over the head. Stefan moaned, breathing speeding up again, legs spreading wider. He looked gorgeous. Alin wanted to tell him that, and a dozen more things, but he just opened the bottle up lube one-handed, then let go of the man’s cock so he could gather some of it in his hand.

Stefan was looking at him intently as Alin reached down, touching his tongue to his teeth in concentration, letting his slippery fingers slide between Stefan’s buttocks and slowly pushing one into him with little resistance. Alin glanced up at Stefan, whose gaze hadn’t wavered at all.

“Good?” he asked.

“Yeah. Come on.”

So Alin moved his finger back and forth, and added a second one when Stefan hitched his legs up. It would, perhaps, be easier if he were to rest on his hands and knees, but Alin didn’t think either of them wanted to lose the chance to look at the other.

A little more lube, then two fingers became three, and Stefan kept making little breathy encouraging sounds. He reached up to push Alin’s hair behind his ear, and Alin grinned, leaning over to kiss him while he kept working his fingers in and out of his hole. Stefan began groaning impatiently, the same way he did when his coffee took too long to brew in the morning – which was amusing, in a way – so Alin quickly pushed his pinkie into him too.

He curled his fingers up, moving them quickly. Stefan groaned and shuddered, his eyes now closed and his face scrunched up in pleasure. Alin grinned, dragging his teeth over the man’s collarbone and running his free hand down his thigh.

“Fuck,” Stefan breathed. Alin’s cock twitched – he didn’t swear a lot, and it was arousing. “I’m _ready_ , Alin—”

“Yeah?”

Stefan pushed himself down on his fingers in response, his nails leaving hot trails on Alin’s back.

So Alin sat back, fumbled with the condom until Stefan growled, took it from him, ripped it open and rolled it over his cock in one smooth movement, and then, after Alin had recovered from just how _fucking hot_ that was and applied even more lube, he finally pushed his cock against the man’s arse.

It was a smooth slide in. Stefan’s face went slack, though his eyes remained steady on Alin, who bit his lip as the tight heat enveloped him. It felt _so good_. Like all those damn years of pining and awkwardness were worth it, just for this moment that they could have together. Maybe a little belated – but then again, maybe not.

“ _Move_ ,” Stefan growled. So Alin did.

They found a rhythm quickly. Alin knew he was not going to last long, so he wrapped a hand around Stefan’s cock, trying to bring them off together. Stefan’s hands locked together behind his neck, dragging him down for a heated kiss that ended with them breathing each other’s air, noses tucked together and Alin’s hair spilling around them. Stefan curled his legs around Alin’s thighs, using them as leverage to meet his thrusts. His breathing was erratic. Alin pressed his nose into the man’s neck, breathed him in, and let himself lose control.

He came with a muffled shout, his hips snapping wildly. Stefan jerked underneath him. His grip on Alin’s neck was almost painful.

Then, on a keening moan, he came too, spilling hot over Alin’s hand, his arse tightening around him, sending a last wave of heat through his body. Alin stroked him through his orgasm, and eventually they collapsed half on top of each other, Alin carefully pulling out of Stefan and discarding of the condom. They were both panting.

Stefan laughed breathlessly. Alin glanced up at his red face.

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna have to – to take another shower,” Stefan panted. “What a waste of water.”

Alin chuckled.

“But that was...” Stefan carded his bony fingers through Alin’s hair absentmindedly, working out the knots. “Amazing.”

“Yeah,” Alin breathed. It was. “Let’s do it again soon.”

Laughing, Stefan tugged him up so they could kiss unhurriedly, basking in the afterglow.

“Only,” he whispered, “if I can fuck you next time.”

“That’s a deal.”

* * *

**I. June, 2016**

“Hi mum!” Stefan greeted happily as he stepped out of the lift. His mother was waiting by her door as usual.

“Hello, dear.” She kissed both his cheeks. “And Alin, so good to see you!”

“Hi Mrs Borisova. Sorry, can’t kiss right now, got my hands full.”

Stefan wanted to say the groceries he was carrying didn’t deter him just now in the lift, but he settled for a raised eyebrow in his boyfriend’s direction. Alin stuck out his tongue behind his mother’s back, and he laughed.

They would visit his mum at least once every week, sometimes taking some groceries for her. It was always odd to be back in the flat where he grew up – where he and Alin kissed for the first time. They once almost got off in Stefan’s old bedroom while his mother was talking to a neighbour out in the hall, but she came back inside before things could get _really_ heated. Stefan had been unable to look her in the eye the entire afternoon after that.

He knew Alin was always half-afraid of running into his parents, who still lived just down the hall. Few things made Stefan as angry as the thought of Alin – amazingly optimistic Alin with his lopsided smiles and his terrible puns – having to be afraid of anything, much less his own _parents_.

“Stefan?”

“Yeah?”

Alin frowned. “Do you have the car keys, ‘cause I don’t.”

He felt around. “No? Did we leave it unlocked?”

Alin made an embarrassed face.

“I’ll go see,” Stefan said.

The keys were, indeed, inside his car, and he quickly locked up.

Back on his mum’s floor, he heard his name being called out from across the hall. The emphasis was off in a familiar way, and he clenched his fists before turning to the source of the voice.

“Mr Rotaru.”

“Ah, so it _is_ you!” The man had gotten a little fatter since Stefan last saw him, and there was a little more grey speckled through his dark hair, but he looked otherwise the same as Stefan had always known him. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Stefan. How are you?”

“Fine,” he answered shortly.

“Visiting your mother, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“Yes...” Mr Rotaru opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he was unsure what he wanted to say. Stefan clenched his jaw. His stomach was in knots. He always had _liked_ Alin’s father, sometimes even thought of him as a sort of second father to himself, in the absence of his actual dad. But now, after what he and his wife had put Alin through... It was confusing.

“I’m sorry,” he said so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, “I’ve got to go, mum’s waiting.”

“Yes, of course, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Have – have a good day, Mr Rotaru.”

“You too.”

Stefan crossed the hall quickly, hunching his shoulders.

“Stefan? I’m sorry, may I ask you something?” Mr Rotaru called after him.

Without turning around, Stefan replied, “Yes?”

“Have you... Heard anything from Alin? I thought he might try to contact you.”

He turned around. Alin’s father looked concerned, and he was fiddling his thumbs. Stefan considered playing dumb. He didn’t.

“I _have_ heard from him, actually,” he said. “I hope you understand I’m not so eager to talk to you. If what he said is true – and I don’t doubt that – you did something terrible to him.”

Mr Rotaru looked down. “I know.”

“You know?” Stefan was surprised.

“I know I should not have reacted that way. I regret it. If you speak to Alin again, will you please tell him that?” He sighed, and his voice was thin when he continued, “I lost not only him, but Luca too, over something that should not be an issue. I’m afraid I let my wife speak for both of us. I love her, but she has a strong will, and she’s always hung on more to the values of the place and time we were born. I know that isn’t an excuse. I should have done something. But I was overwhelmed. I was unprepared. And in the past, I would have agreed with her.”

Stefan was quiet for a while, trying to process this. It was true that Mrs Rotaru had always had the loudest voice in the family, or so it seemed, at least, but he didn’t think it went this far.

“What you’re saying is,” he started, “you’re fine with Alin being gay.”

“Yes.” His face hadn’t changed at Stefan’s statement. “I— Admit I had to get used to it, but I don’t want to deny my son a chance at love just because it would be with a man.”

“That is... That is great. That’s admirable.”

Alin’s father smiled, in the same lopsided way Alin did. Stefan’s heart clenched.

“So please, tell him that I would like to see him soon.”

Stefan nodded.

“Thank you _so_ much, Stefan.” He made to walk to the lift, but Stefan called out his name, and he turned back. “What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Alin is here. We’re visiting my mum together. If I talk to him now, will you wait?”

“Well, I... Yes, but I wouldn’t want to pressure him.”

“He misses you. I know he does. If you’re serious, I know he would be more than happy to talk to you.”

“I’m very serious, Stefan.”

“I’ll talk to him. Wait right there.”

Quickly, he returned to his mum’s flat, where she looked very bemused when Stefan dragged Alin into his old bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“What’s up?” Alin asked, grinning cheekily.

Stefan licked his lips. “Your dad’s out there – he wants to talk to you.”

“My d— He wants—” Alin leaned heavily against the door, grin slipping from his lips.

“He says he regrets what happened. If you say no, I’ll go out there and tell him to shove it. You can.”

Alin ran his hands through his hair. It was still getting longer. Stefan loved it that way.

“Are you sure he’s serious?”

“Sure enough. Yes. He seemed distraught.”

“Does he know we’re together?”

“No.”

He laughed shakily. “Wonder what he’d say of that.”

“I don’t care,” Stefan replied. “I love you.”

Everything fell still. He hadn’t said that before. Neither of them had, for some reason. There were always other things, more urgent or funnier or less hard things, to say. Stefan watched Alin’s eyes go soft, and then he was being pulled towards them by a hand in his shirt, and the kiss that followed was soft and deep and familiar in the best way. He could spend the rest of the afternoon just like that, pressing Alin against the door and just kissing him, nothing more and nothing less. Because he did love him.

“I love you too, Stefan Borisov,” Alin whispered. “Now let’s go shock my dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll let you decide if Lizzie from school is Hungary or not.
> 
> I'm still laughing about Romania's emo phase in part III. That was one of my favorite things to write.
> 
> Also I wrote this (or tried to write this) in British English, which is officially the English I was taught in school, but I had teachers from Canada and South Africa, so it didn't really work. But anyway it was pretty fun to do.


End file.
